Problems of Drunkenness
by Kilrez
Summary: Trying to convince House to go to the bar is harder than it should be.
1. Abstinence

**Problems of Drunkenness**

This little rambling of insantity is based on a discussion I had with DarkAngel38, over House's drinking proclivities. Technically, we have seen him take a sip of alcohol three times, and actually be drunk once, but watch closely. There are dozens more times when he _doesn't actually drink, _although it seems like he should be. So... read on. (this one'll be about four chapters)

* * *

The cane spun back and forth over the elegant fingers, House watching it intently as his mind spun through deep thoughts and contemplations. 

'Hiding from Cuddy again?'

Some people just had no respect for deep thought.

'Interesting question, from someone who's looking for someone to take up shifts for him.' House spun slowly on his swivel chair to pin Wilson with a stare, the cane never stopping its movement. 'Julie feeling the need to 're-kindle the flame' with a romantic weekend?'

'I'm not trying to get you take my shift.'

House stared at him some more. _Spin, spin._

'No, seriously, I'm not… Chase agreed to do it.'

House nodded sagely. 'It does help if you've got dirt on them.'

'You've got dirt on Chase? Really? What is it?'

'Thought you disapproved of my nosy ways St. Wilson.'

Wilson gave a half-roll of his eyes. 'I think that's mostly because you're annoyingly closed mouthed about it once you've found out anything.'

'Well maybe if you went to all the trouble, once in a while, of heckling someone until they snapped the truth at you, then maybe I'd share some of _my_ hard work with you.'

'Right. Because it's such a burden for you to know absolutely everything about everyone…I bet you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.'

When he was subjected to several seconds of unreadable stare, Wilson could tell House's retort would drop their light and teasing tone. 'I think you'll have to go through Cuddy again if you want me to take that one up like last time.'

Wilson almost asked what 'last time' was, he'd been so sure that House had no idea about the detox bet. But he realised in time and attempted to shrug it off instead, like he hadn't just withered inside. Falling back on his surest defence, he changed the subject.

'Wanna come get drinks after work?'

'Now would avoiding your wife in the evenings not be defeating the point of your up and coming flame rekindling?' The seriousness was lost again, but House had paused for a moment, allowing it to be registered that the subject had been officially brought up, and officially dropped.

'I figure that, after the actual weekend, I'm not gonna want to come out for drinks any more because of all the flame, so I might as well make the most of it now.'

'You're an optimist on both counts. I'm busy.' House finally stopped the spinning, leaning his cane against the side of his desk and pulling himself forwards so he could meaningfully pick up a pen.

'Seven cases is busy?'

There were a few more seconds of staring whilst House waited for Wilson to realise the idiocy of his statement.

'Yeah, OK,' conceded Wilson finally. Satisfied, House began to scan over the document in front of him.

'You know,' started Wilson, embarking on his bypass attempt- to get House to come out for drinks anyway. House looked up, paying attention at least, which was a good sign. 'I've never seen you drunk.'

'And you bring this up because you think it might be a good way to encourage me to sit in a smoky bar and watch _you_ get drunk?'

'No, you said you weren't coming.'

'That doesn't mean you've given up,' pointed out House dryly.

'You'd think I didn't love you any more if I stopped trying,' confessed Wilson.

'Why is it not that easy for me with Cameron?' Muttered House.

'Apparently chicks dig guys when they play hard to get.'

'So what's your story then?'

'They also dig huge wallets and accomplished CVs,' sighed Wilson, dropping into House's visitor chair and idly reaching out a hand to pick up the lacrosse ball that rested on the desk.

'You know, I do believe you've solved the age old male dilemma of attempting to distinguish between girls that want you for who you are, and the other sort.'

'Yeah. If they'll marry you, they're the wrong sort.' Wilson put the ball down, seeming to sink in on himself in his miserable slouch.

'This romantic getaway… it wouldn't happen to be to somewhere with a beach and a massage parlour would it? Somewhere that takes your credit card for one last spin before she drops you?'

'You know, I've always suspected that you're secretly telepathic.'

'Not when you're moping like that Jimmy. Hand.'

'What?'

House motioned impatiently with his head at Wilson's hands, resting in fists on his knees. Wilson gave House an appropriately confused look. House sighed, long-sufferingly, and held out his own hand, palm up. Reluctantly understanding, Wilson uncurled his left hand with what seemed like a force of will, and placed it on top of House's own, also palm up. In the light of the office, four fresh, crescent shaped scabs were clearly visible on the soft skin.

'You need to get yourself a stress ball Jimmy,' House told him matter-of-factly, allowing Wilson to take his hand back with a pointed look. Wilson refused to meet it.

House grabbed his cane and levered himself stiffly to his feet. 'Come on, let's go.'

True to Wilson's word, House didn't get drunk, again. True to House's word, Wilson did.

'You never eat,' moaned Wilson, forehead resting on palm, which rested on the slightly sticky table of the bar.

'Worried I'm becoming anorexic mother?' Asked House with a raised eyebrow.

'Or sleep. Or smoke. Or hire hookers,' continued Wilson, almost to himself.

'Maybe you just don't think I sleep because you wake me up at 3am by calling to complain about your marriages when she kicks you out.'

'Don't go out partying. Don't show the least bit of interest in women other than degrading comments about their anatomy.'

'You turn into a psychologist when you're drunk,' commented House mildly.

'You're always a psychologist,' retorted Wilson, raising his head to take another sip of his drink and glare balefully at House. 'You shpin your cane and lord over everything and never actually **live**. 'f it wasn't for th' damn pills, I'd say you didn't feel pain. The detoxing was the closest I've ever scheen you come to loosing control.'

House was suddenly engaging in the conversation, the hint of a frown on his face as he regarded Wilson. '_That's _your reason for putting me up to it? You're meant to be the compassionate one.'

''m trying to be. You know _I_ got Cameron to apply for this job? Knew you'd like her- appropriately damaged, but nice an' pretty. Thought she might be able to fix you when I couldn't.'

'Very chauvinistic of you. What makes you think I need fixing?'

'The cane,' snorted Wilson sloppily, taking a swig of his beer, and setting it down on the table with a small slam. 'And the fact that the last person to touch you was that kid's dad when he punched you in the face.'

'Anything else you'd like to say now that you'll regret in the morning?' Asked House dryly, not really needing to hide his feelings on these confessions now because Wilson was too drunk to pick up on them really anyway.

'You even listening to me?'

'Always Jimmy. Come on, let's get you home to your loving missus.'

'She's leaving me because of you,' muttered Wilson as he stood unsteadily, although there was no real accusation in his voice any more.

'She's not leaving you yet. And might not, if I get you home before twelve.' House wasn't looking at Wilson as he spoke, nodding to the bartender as he slapped down a few bills then picked up his cane from where he'd leant it against his leg and made for the door. People parted for the cripple with looks of sympathy that he'd learnt to ignore. Wilson shambled after him in the wake he left.

'You know, you never act comfortingly till something's hurt you,' Wilson accused his back as they broke out abruptly into the cool, clear night air.

'Stops me lashing out instead,' agreed House offhandedly, scanning the car park for a taxi he'd called a few minutes ago.

'To know thine enemy, first know thyself,' muttered Wilson bitterly.

'Your drunken logic has lost me there,' said House dryly, leaning back against the brick wall of the building whilst he waited, leaning his cane next to him so he could dig in his pocket for his pills. Wilson turned to square off with him, feeling belligerent.

'It's controlling others isn't it?'

'Is it?' came the nonchalant reply as House dry swallowed the pills with a tilt of his head.

'To control them, you think you've first gotta control y'self.'

'Well getting drunk as a skunk and telling any one who'll listen all your deepest secrets certainly isn't the way. But no. Simple fact is; life isn't there to be enjoyed. I'd elaborate, but I don't think you're going to remember this in the morning.'

'I'm not that drunk.'

'When you- wonder-boy Wilson, with a heart big enough for the average blue whale- is accusing me of breaking up your marriage, then you're drunk enough.'

With that the taxi came, saving the sloshed oncologist from either having to come up with a witty retort, or from saying something else he'd regret.

That weekend, House stayed at home, Chase worked Wilson's shift, and Wilson went on a romantic getaway with his wife. Two Mondays later, she filed.

To be continued… 


	2. Commiseration

**Chapter Two**

Did I mention that this is going to be a House/Wilson strong friendship fic?Because, well, yeah... one of them.

**Sally: **Nothing will make me drool more than someone praising me with the word intellectual. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. **Sawyer**: Yay! I'm happy that you expect randomness, because... OK, don't tell anyone, but I hear voices... :D But that's beside the point. The next few fics I've got lined up to post venture fairly far into the random. We got a House/Cuddy, another House/Cameron, and one that's... I'm not even sure what on earth it is... eh. Think not of them. Hope you enjoy this one. **dontuwanakno**: Beautiful ay? How kind. Like your name btw.

* * *

House was only tinkling lightly on the keys when the soft knock on his door came that Monday night, otherwise he wouldn't have heard it. He stopped, cocking his head on one side for a moment, then sighing. He didn't need to look at his watch. It was late, which could mean only one person, and one thing really. His stomach dropped slightly in empathetic pain. He was too cynical by now to want to pretend that he hadn't seen it coming, yet it was human nature to hope, however falsely.

Leaving his glass, with it's few remaining drops of amber liquid, resting on the piano, he stood stiffly, gathering his cane and limping to the door. The person on his door step was patient, confirming his guess.

Twisting the latch, he opened the door without a word, turning and heading back into the room. Wilson let himself in, shutting the door behind himself and slowly following House back into the living room. House didn't need to look at his face to know the misery that would be plastered across it, and that, perhaps was why he didn't.

James collapsed on the couch without invitation, and House continued through to the kitchen, to the fridge, to pull out two beers. He liked to talk, but there were times when drink and drink alone was needed. He opened both bottles and hobbled back into the lounge room with the necks clasped in one hand. Collapsing next to his friend, he silently handed him a beer, then reached for the remote, searching on the television for some mindless sport, anything really.

Wilson got the next two beers, although House knew he wanted to go for the stronger spirits, and still didn't speak. It wasn't until their third bottle each that the silence was broken, and even then it was done by House.

'It always comes as a surprise to you doesn't it?'

'It… shouldn't, by now. After…' He stopped, choking off. House didn't look at him; let him have his time. He knew when to push, and when simply to be silent and let people fill in the gaps.

'God,' Said Wilson, running his free hand through his hair, the other clutching the neck of his beer. House glanced at him, and then studied him properly for the first time since he had come in, disregarding the TV now they were finally up to the talking. He was still wearing his clothes from work, minus the usual immaculate tie. Minus the usual immaculate anything actually. His hair was messy, the shirt rumpled, somewhat in House's own style.

'It's happening again isn't it? I thought maybe, just a bad patch, but she got the papers…'

House didn't reply. There wasn't a terrible lot he could say that would be comforting, or for that matter, anything he could say that wouldn'tmake Wilson break down completely at that moment. He glanced around the room, once again waiting for his friend to collect himself and continue, noting that the remnants of whiskey in the glass on the piano had almost evaporated.

Feeling suddenly uneasy on the couch, he pulled himself awkwardly to his feet, using his cane for the short space to the piano, sitting down at the bench. Running his fingers lightly over the ivory keys, he paused for a moment, and then just allowed his hands to find a pattern. A low, soothing rhythm wove into the room, mixing with the quiet commentary from the television.

'Did you know?' asked Wilson, his voice flat. House didn't even consider lying.

'Yes.' But he didn't embellish. Cruelty was not in his nature, despite what some would say. Wilson seemed to be in the mood for pain at that moment however, and House could not blame him; could very well understand even.

'Since when?'

'Since two weeks after your honeymoon when she rang you at work to tell you to pick up some shopping on the way home. That's far too short a time for a successful marriage to sink into mundanity. But specifically, recently? When you came out with me on a weeknight, with the direct intention of getting drunk. So, two Thursdays ago.'

'Two Thursdays ago,' echoed Wilson hollowly.

'Any requests?' Asked House after a few long moments had trickled past. Certainly, there was a lot that had not been said, but there was little else that could be said right now, not with Wilson's raw state. So… that left diversion. Take the conscious mind off the pain as much as possible, whilst it began to heal, or numb, as best it could.

'_Bloody Sunday_ by U2,' replied Wilson after a moment. House obliged, and otherwise the room was silent. The TV in the background was somehow a comforting counterpoint. Wilson leaned his head back on the couch and sighed.

Half-way through, the oncologist heaved himself heavily to his feet, moving like a man twice his years. Crippling pain could do that to a person. Pain of either sort.

He disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with the whiskey bottle House had started earlier, along with another glass. They'd already finished all the beer in the fridge. House let him, and for the first time, joined him, until his fingers were too clumsy to elicit anything more than basic nursery songs. They got steadily drunk together. Because pain spread. Seeing Wilson fresh in the knowledge that another divorce would not be far in coming caused House's many scars to flare up, reminding him of all he'd lost. So he sank them in alcohol, until the world was three steps removed, and he almost couldn't feel the pain that radiated off his best friend's slumped figure.

When he glanced at the clock, and it informed him that he'd be more than sorry in the morning, he very carefully stood from where he had relocated back to the couch. Rescuing the remote from the coffee table, he finally turned off the TV, signalling to Wilson that it was time to seek sleep.

Slowly, weavingly, he moved to a cupboard and pulled out a couple of blankets and a pillow, carrying them back to the couch like an old dog still trying to play fetch. Wilson had already lain out, with the closed eyes of one who was trying to rationalise the spinning.

'Shoes,' said House thickly. Wilson obligingly toed them off without opening his eyes, letting them drop to the floor and lay where they fell. House tossed the blankets and pillow on top of him and left him to sort it out, retreating to his own bedroom.

_To be continued…_


	3. Accusation

**Chapter Three**

**Mrs Ronald Weasley**: We always feel sorry for House, in one way or another. It's part of his charm. **prinnie**: Thankya dear. **Sawyer**: Can I marry you? Seriously. No one else seems to get the importance of the voices. :D And if I may, can I offer a translation? 'Over the top' meaning slash, no? Thankyou terribly much for your comments. They do make the voices so very happy. **tranquil-eyes:** Oh boy did your review have me bouncing up and down in my seat and clapping my hands. I was unsure about Bloody Sunday, so thanks for the validation. Also, that image... yeah. Don't know what to say really. It was one of the core images as the story came together, and you picked it. Cookies! **AilciA**: Two reviews from you. Aren't I lucky :) Thankyou for your coherent praise ('creative,' 'perceptive'... wowie!), you made me blush. Now go get some sleep, I hear it's kinda important.

* * *

The next morning, House regretted it heartily; alcohol, combined with lack of sleep and time spent wallowing in self-pity and pain. He could hear his shower going, and knew very well that Wilson would be twice as bad. The heavy Vicodin usage gave him a general resistance to drugs of all sorts; pure practicality was half of the reason why he never got drunk.

Still… he catalogued his ills and did not find them wanting. He lay still for a bit, until he heard the shower stop, and the door open a few minutes later. Then, and only then did he make the unsteady trip down the hall to empty his already empty stomach into the toilet. It smelt like Wilson already had.

His friend kept a spare change of clothes at his place, which had come in handy more times than seemed reasonable. By the time House was out of the shower (hot water cured much), Wilson was looking like a doctor, with perfectly straight tie, ironed shirt and pants. He also looked like he was miserable, and had a headache, but there was the smell of toast wafting from the kitchen, some already consumed, some made for House in silent thanks.

House had popped a Vicodin, which worked for both head and leg, but Wilson stubbornly made do with some non-prescription analgesics. Then they both drove in to work, nothing more said between them. Sometimes it was like that.

**oo00OO00oo**

Wilson, Foreman, Chase and Cameron were all in the meeting room by the time House arrived, because he had taken his time to finish his toast, and fuelled his car on the way. Being early rarely reaped any benefits.

It was clear that Wilson was only in to take advantage of the rather good coffee that Cameron always made, and almost as clear that he wasn't feeling so good. This had apparently raised no comment, but when House entered, Foreman immediately began to look thoughtful. House left him to it.

'Any interesting offerings?' He asked them in general. Cameron looked up over her glasses at him, an unfolded letter in her hand and a pile in front of her.

'There's a few requests for consults among these.' She indicated the pile of letters. House blinked at her, Wilson's comments about 'picking her' floating back to him. He brushed them aside to retort normally.

'Nuh uh. You gotta do better than that. My time is precious. If you can't think of anything more interesting, I'm busy kicking turtle butt.' He referred lightly to his gameboy, despite the queasiness in his stomach barely settled by dry toast, and the general 'blerch' feeling of the hangover. His punch line thusly delivered, he made to retreat to his office, reaaally not feeling like dealing with anyone at that moment. No such luck though.

'Is that what they call it these days?' Foreman's tone was amused and triumphant, and House felt his insides harden with pure hate that the neurologist had picked this time to bring this up. He swivelled on his left heel to pin a dangerous glare on the man, although this only served to make the smug smile slightly wider as he used all evidence to feed his suspicions. Three pairs of eyes were watching the confrontation, although Wilson's were empty and dull over his coffee cup. House wished Wilson had taken a personal day, simply to keep his friend out of the rumour mill until he could handle it, but Wilson believed that keeping busy was the only way to keep together, and House refused to argue with him in his condition.

'I don't know, you tell me. You're the one so 'down' with the lingo.'

Foreman broke the staring contest, smiling into his coffee cup with a slight snort of amusement. Chase was starting to share his look, but Cameron was just frowning slightly in concern. She wasn't so lost in gleeful triumph that she couldn't see the very dangerous glint in House's eyes. If she'd have cared to look, Wilson's demeanour may also have answered some questions.

'Not so much. I honestly don't swing that way.'

'What way would that be _Eric_?' Foolishly, Foreman was still taking the tone for irritation at being found out.

'Oh come on House. You two both walk in here with hangovers, him smelling of your soap and walking stiffly… It hardly takes a master mind.'

Wilson took that moment to quietly leave, slightly putting Foreman off his stride, because of the sheer unexpectedness of it.

'Wow,' said House, eyes wide in mock awe. 'Normally only I can get that kind of reaction by opening my mouth.' He dropped the act, tone becoming scathing. 'Of course, there's a difference between necessary cruelty and the other kind.'

'The other kind…' repeated Foreman dubiously.

'Yeah, the one where you jump to nasty gossip-like conclusions based on circumstantial evidence and then use them to make other people feel like shit simply for the hell of proving a point that will earn you nothing.' Certainly, there was a very fine distinction between this and House's normal motis operandi, but it was an important one.

Foreman was caught half-way between gloat and cautiousness, not knowing where House was heading. Chase looked wary, only aware now that House was monumentally pissed off, despite the calm demeanour.

Instead of backing down though, Foreman threw it to the wind, having been riled up by his boss too many times to want to back down. 'You always say stick to your diagnosis. Mine makes sense. You were both clearly drinking last night…' House knew that it wasn't so clear, but Foreman wasn't past filling in a bit of evidence in his mind to make his point work. '…And alcohol just happens to be the perfect thing for inhibition removal-' He got no further, cut off by an icily calm House.

'Stop there, before you embarrass yourself further by attempting to get detailed. And don't look so interested Chase, I'm sure Foreman can share some of what he's talking about with you later.' House felt the need to wound at will, and Chase had only been thinking what Foreman had been saying, making him deserving of crossfire. 'Listen carefully to me now you pathetic imbecile, because I won't tell you twice, I'll just fire you and make very sure you won't be able to get hired again. Anywhere. The cafeteria ladies will be like royalty compared to the gutter shit you will become. Wilson and I- not sleeping together. Never have, never will. Maybe if you keep your thick ears open and actually use your dismal cranial space to its maximum capacity you crack-brained fuck wit, you may eventually learn why it was Wilson slept on my couch last night. Until then- Keep Your Mouth Shut About Things You Know Nothing About.'

House punctuated the end of his quietly vehement speech with a loud crack of his cane down on the table, his needle sharp stare unwavering for long moments on the three members of his team, before he stalked out in Wilson's path.

Blinking in silent shock, Foreman swallowed, not daring himself to look at either of his co-workers. He needn't have bothered. They were as much locked in writhing and personal shame as he was. None of them had seen House angry like that before, never seen him spit out venomous swearwords with such hate flashing in his eyes. It was more than scary, and terribly convincing. And something else- the reason behind that anger.

The reason behind that anger was Wilson, and that was something to think about. Foreman had been trying, however subconsciously, to get such a rise out of House ever since he'd found out that the man had snooped into his personal files. Nothing worked, and he realised now because it had probably been because he was attacking House. House had nothing to attack, well, nothing he left out in the open. Nothing he cared about enough to defend with hissing anger that would take several days to cool and would never be forgotten.

Nothing except Wilson.

_To be continued…_


	4. Explanation

**Chapter Four**

Thanks to **MagickalStar135**, **AilciA**, **Mrs Ronald Weasley** and **Sawyer** (you do so make sense)for your wonderful reviews.I was worried about that last chapter seeming overdone,and you wouldn't belief how relieved your reviews made me feel.Terribly sorry, I really am posting on the run here, so here goes...

* * *

House went to the clinic, perhaps the first time he had ever done so voluntarily. He didn't want to hide in his office, because at the moment, that was too close to Foreman, and he wasn't sure how in control he was, and if he would be able to restrain himself a second time from actually inflicting physical harm. His other hide-out, Wilson's office, was just out of the question. The oncologist didn't need to see him right now.

Actually, House wanted to go home, but even though Wilson didn't need to talk to him, he wouldn't abandon him at the hospital. So, that left the clinic. He did his duty with a scowl, efficiently working through patients, not in the mood for playing any games.

Just before eleven, Cuddy seemed to get word of what was happening, and intercepted him in exam room one as he was examining an old man complaining of spots in his vision and shortness of breath.

'Why is it that Wilson's relationship troubles always seem to affect you rather than him?' She demanded irritably as she entered. House could hear her desire to berate him in her tone. 'I heard you verbally assaulted Foreman.'

House let the accusation float in the air for several moments, calmly continuing to inspect the old man's eyes. 'He was asking for it,' he said finally, straightening to reach for a stethoscope so he could check the patient's breathing.

'And you're asking to get sued?' Her ire was rising at his calm tone, and the way he was all but ignoring her, continuing to see to the patient.

'He won't sue.'

'No? Sure are you? Newsflash House- you can't just rely on you being his boss to save your ass from a law suit!'

'No, I can rely on the fact that he was asking for it.' House straightened again, and addressed the patient. 'Your tie's pressing in on your carotid arteries. Loosen it or just don't wear one,' he told the man blankly, before stalking out past Cuddy. 'Thankyou,' wavered the man happily, pulling at the knot with arthritic fingers. Cuddy spared him a glance before storming out after House.

House had picked up another file and was flicking through it as he stood at the reception desk. Before Cuddy could accuse him again, he spoke, keeping his tone quiet and even.

'I spent most of last night trying to get Wilson to forget about the bitch who's leaving him, and within five minutes of coming in this morning, Foreman practically makes him cry.' House glanced up at Cuddy from where he'd been reading the file, his face expressionless. 'He was asking for it,' he repeated, before switching the file in his hands, grabbing his cane, and heading to the waiting room.

'Dora Singles?' Cuddy heard House ask. She just stood there for several moments, her previous anger forgotten. Then she headed up to her office and sat for several minutes more, thinking, staring into the air. Deciding on something, she paged Foreman.

He was relatively quick, entering cautiously. 'You paged me?' He asked politely. Cuddy didn't look up from the memo she was writing for a few long seconds- a trick she used to let people know they were in her bad books. Placing the pen down finally, she glanced at Foreman, somehow managing to keep her dismissive expression despite the direct stare.

'This is a warning I've never had to give to anyone in this hospital before, but don't make House angry.'

'Huh?' Foreman articulated dumbly. Cuddy continued as though he hadn't spoken, staring at him seriously.

'He won't ever lose his temper without a very good reason, and it seems that you've discovered one of his reasons. Since-' She paused to look him over meaningfully, '-you have the normal number of appendages though, it seems he was merely very annoyed, not angry.'

'That wasn't angry?' Questioned Foreman dubiously. 'I thought 'merely very annoyed' is what we get every day.'

'No, that's neutral. Angry is when he makes dents in things with his cane. So just try to be nice to Wilson during this divorce please.' She gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes and gestured to the door. Foreman left mutely, understanding dawning.

**oo00OO00oo**

Wilson was already there when House got home, sitting on the couch and using the coffee table to write on some papers that he quickly hid when he heard the door open. House limped in without acknowledgement, dumping his bag and heading to his bedroom to get changed. Wilson sat back on the couch staring into space for a bit whilst he waited.

'I take it you found the spare key,' commented House wryly, still pulling down the hem of his t-shirt as he reappeared.

'Sorry House. I'll be gone tomorrow. I'll hire a hotel room or something.'

'How about I let you stay if you let me take a look at those divorce papers you're sitting on?'

Blushing slightly, Wilson extracted the papers and held them up for House to get. His friend limped over the couch and thumped down, taking the papers off him and quickly flicking through them until he found the bit he was looking for.

'Hang on; I _know _you had a pre-nup this time. I stood over you while you signed it.'

'Yeah, but, I don't know…'

''I don't know' is a really crap reason for just selling your beloved abode and giving her half the money.'

'I feel bad.'

'She's a money-grubbing harpy- she'll soon find another rich professional to marry and take control of his credit card. And you know that. No, you're more worried about what everyone will think of this third divorce. So this is placation money for her to go quietly. Also a really crap reason.'

Wilson was silent, staring at his hands, and anyone other than House would have thought perhaps they had pushed too far. This was one of the many reasons why House was the master- because he knew that Wilson had something else on his mind.

''m sorry for railing on you when I got drunk,' he said quietly after a while. House rolled his eyes, knowing Wilson couldn't see him.

'That's all right. You had an impending divorce to worry about, not to mention the concern that your best friend would refuse to get drunk with you when it came.'

Wilson looked up at him with a small flinch, his eyes liquid pools of pain. House winced. 'Do we really have to do the long and emotional 'feelings' talk right now? General Hospital's on in a few minutes.'

'You've taped it,' pointed out Wilson.

'Yeah. And I plan on watching that tape in a few minutes.'

'You substitute wine, women and dance with TV.'

'You just apologised for doing that analysis thing there… But, yes, I do. Can't dance no more, wine always results in hangovers, and you, I believe, are currently demonstrating the problems with the third category.'

'Is that the only reason with you… and the…'third category'?' Asked Wilson slowly. House stared at him for a few moments, then shuffled away from him on the couch, ever so minutely.

'Foreman's talk been going to your head?' He asked, giving Wilson a funny look.

'No. But I have to wonder. I mean, maybe that's why I'm so bad at marriage. 'cause I'm gay. And you-'

'Stop right there.'

'But I heard you practically tore Foreman apart for upsetting me.'

'It's 'cause we're friends Jimmy,' said House gently, locking their gazes to make his point. Wilson sighed, blinking in acquiescence.

'Sorry.'

'That's OK. You can blame on being officially in rebound as of now. Hand me that remote will you?'

The End.


End file.
